I'm a Cowboy. On a Steel Horse I Ride.

Ah ... and now I get to one of my favorite little bits of:
(drumroll please)

FUN IRAQ TRAGICOMEDY!
(insert high-pitched, giggly laugh track here)

We've run out of bullets.

Here's a quote:
"Winning a war without bullets is like trying to educate kids without any books. Oh, right, I guess we're doing that too."

Okay ... no first of all, neither I (nor my Feeder, I must say) endorse anyone that we don't go "WE ENDORSE THIS MADNESS" to.

But really ... these freakin' Hawks (pause for licking of drool from mouth-fur) go to all kinds of trouble, waste billions of dollars, bomb the hell out of entire families, wedding parties, villages, ensure that -- oh -- thousands of years worth of priceless artwork and and cultural artifacts are destroyed and/or lost for centuries, send in scads of untrained, improperly armed, unprotected, unshielded weekend warriors to do the job of, well, full time ones ... AND NO ONE TAKES A MINUTE TO STOCK UP ON THE AMMUNITION?

Come on folks. The original GW rowin' up the Delaware had better forethought then that ... and he had to measure powder from a leather bag for every shot he wanted to take!

This is where the insane meets the ridiculous people.

This is where cats and dogs have to take paws (pause? i can never spell that one) and say: hmm ... what's the point of the chase again? Can't we all get along? If we can't ... can I at least get some freakin' bullets for the battle?!

Even Jon Bon Jovi (and yes, later on I'll allow Feeder to bore the hell out of you w/ her story of how she was forced, in her formative teenage years, to spend the night outside of the Michigan Union so that underage baby sister could get tickets. Oh, the shame to her high school rep. -- a story i've long grown bored of) had the sense to cut hair and act when the time came.

Got gun? GET A FREAKIN BULLET!
The Hawks who have the nerve to spend entire lifetimes planning wars should take this one little hint from HAWKERY FOR DUMMIES: if you plan on hittin' it ... you'd better come packin' (generously reprinted in "So You Wanna Be A Dyke Top?" (High Risk publications, 1995). (nod to dinner)

Hissssssss.....

(read on)